


The Passing Lane

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [32]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Tessera, Traveling, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-15
Updated: 2011-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-26 02:25:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 32: Past.  The Winchester men travel to Missouri’s to help Sam deal with the visions.  John's always introspective while driving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Passing Lane

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

It’s only a day or two, and they’re packing up, each of the men idly waving away the disorientation that comes when they leave someplace familiar. Dean’s not a hundred percent yet, but John’s promised to take the boys to Missouri’s instead of Jim’s, and Tess trusts the psychic to make sure the boy doesn’t over-do. Her business is beginning to pick up again, and she’s got to turn her attention back to it, regretfully. She’s got a soft place in her heart for the Winchester boys, though she’d never show it to any of them. Right now she’s frowning at Dean, who’s been fretting about the Impala for the last hour. He hasn’t been allowed out of the suite, for the most part, trying to make sure he rests. She’s about to give him what-for when Sam ghosts up beside her and touches the edge of her sleeve.

“He’ll be fine when we go downstairs, ma’am. He and Dad are nuts about that car.” Tess gives the boy a stern look, which makes him duck his head and blush, as he swerves away from her to grab a pair of duffel bags. Well, that explains why John hasn’t said anything about the whining.

John hustles them down to the garage, and Sam marvels that it took them so long to put together less than a dozen bags and a box. And he grins to himself when they step into the brightly lit garage. Dean’s charge towards the Impala is halted in mid-stride as he realizes that every inch of his baby is waxed, polished and shined. He turns to Tess, a dazed look on his face.

“Tess, you shouldn’t-“

“I didn’t, boy.”

“Don’t look at me,” chuckles John, when Dean’s worshipful gaze turns to him. Sam’s got a little tell-tale flush on his face.

“Sammy?” Dean sounds a little bewildered.

“Dad changed the oil and did the plugs and wires last week, like you needed, and I thought I’d do the rest of what you would’ve, since you couldn’t.” He’s embarrassed, as he gets an armful of ecstatic Dean.

His oldest boy sounds about twelve again when he turns to his father.

“Dad, shotgun, please,” he says with absolute naked longing. John’s had bad luck with his run of used trucks lately, he’d gone so far as to throw a wrench at the latest piece of crap before he had a towtruck haul it off to a junkyard, and there’s never any question of who drives the Impala when the three of them are traveling together. John nods, slowly.

“Just until we stop, son. Then you rest. I take you into Missouri’s without you resting she’ll have both our hides.”

Sam conceals a smirk. Missouri’s often harsh with his father and brother, her soft spot is for him and him alone. He gives Tess an awkward hug, and settles his long limbs into the backseat – he’s hoping that the look John’s giving him as he slides into the driver’s seat means that it won’t be more than a few hours before they stop, because he’s way more comfortable in the front seat. Tess takes an extra minute to hang onto Dean’s arm and give him a couple swats before he pays attention to her properly, he’s so eager to get in the car. Sam watches with amusement, John with growing annoyance as the dominatrix gets Dean to stand still and listen. Finally, she opens the door and lets him slide inside, he reverently runs a hand over the spotless dashboard, along the radio, his fingers dipping longingly into the cassette collection. John snorts, because there’s not a chance he’s putting up with AC/DC.

John slides Credence Clearwater Revival in, hoping for a compromise, planning on swapping it out the minute the boy looks sleepy, and keeps the volume low, the way he and Sam prefer it. He’s more comfortable on the road, as safe as Tess’s is, like Bobby’s and Jim’s places, he’s still happier when he’s moving, or they’re somewhere isolated, up in the woods. He’s actually starting to feel a little bleak, heading for Lawrence. As much as he likes Missouri, he hates Lawrence, hates the cruel ache that the rose he’ll leave on Mary’s grave will leave behind. He hates even more the tears that will be yanked unwilling from him when he sees the daisies that Sam’s left for her – the first time Sammy’d seen her picture, he’d informed John, little face serious, that she ought to have flowers in her hair, and had pointed at some flowers planted in the park they were at. And then there’s the way he’ll see that the Mary’s headstone will be absolutely free of dirt, and dust, weeds pulled away, even though the corner she’s in doesn’t get much maintenance. Dean doesn’t speak, doesn’t leave flowers, but he does the only thing he knows how to do for those he loves – takes care of them.

John glances in the back at his youngest as the cassette flips sides, and smiles. Sam looks relaxed, face slack with sleep, and now John knows why his son’s seemed tired out for the last week – he did a month’s work on the Impala in that time. John’s grateful to him for the care, not just for how much more tractable it’s making Dean. Sam, for all he likes to talk, doesn’t like to touch certain subjects, and John’s pretty sure it’s an apology for some of the arguments he’s had with the boy about caring for the car, back when he was still a teen. He passes up a rest area, as amused as ever that Sam sleeps through the more rollicking tunes that are on the radio most days. Dean’s perked up after they pass the rest stop, when John checks subtly on him. The boy still has fingers tapping on the door just underneath the closed window, looking mesmerized by the mile markers that are flying by.

John’s relaxing, himself, sliding into the smooth rhythm of the road. He’s hoping that after Sam’s rested a little, and Dean’s calmed down with the proximity to the car, it’ll be a quick trip, no bickering. Keeping a close eye on Dean, he feels a whisper of sorrow as exhaustion overtakes his son, aging him as he tires. As Dean’s head slumps onto his shoulder, John can see the man he’s become, right now worn a little thin, but reflexes still hair triggered, the way Dean’s eyes slit open if John has to make more than a slight correction at the wheel. Sam’s just the opposite, exhaustion is a fountain of youth for that boy, making him look and sound younger, which both John and Dean could do without, a lifetime of Sam’s whining has both of them predisposed to nip exhaustion in the bud where the younger boy is concerned.

They’re through the first third of the trip, approaching halfway when John regretfully decides that he’s got to stop, he’s more than passing hungry, and he wants to get Dean horizontal so he rests better. There’s a truck stop he’s familiar with just ahead, decent food, privacy in case he has to knock heads together. He wonders if Dean and Sam remember the number of spankings that have taken place, quick and effective, behind the various rest stops across the nation, given when John’s threats failed to quell the bickering or the fist fights. He’s certainly thinking about it as he herds both drowsy boys into a booth, listening to the halfhearted argument, not even sure what it’s about. The grey-haired matron who takes their order overhears the threat that gets them to call a truce, and gives John a warm smile, makes sure his coffee’s hot the whole time she’s there, and manages to ‘forget’ that both boys asked for coffee as well. John’s not sure he can take both pairs of hungry eyes on his coffee cup much longer, when both boys finally finish, and they head back to the car.

He shakes his head at Dean when the boy goes for the front seat, and then he’s watching while the boys look at each other, and Sam yanks open the back door, slides in behind John, then pops the opposite door open for his brother. The two of them curl up like a pair of cats, and John’s thankful not for the first time that the Impala’s a big car, because the two six foot plus men take up the whole backseat and then some. But they’re still his boys, and there’s no mistaking the way they relax into one another, the same as they did at six and twelve, and even sixteen and twenty. He won’t mind spending the next five hours staring the past in the face, not when the present is a hand’s reach behind him wearing matching smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Norah Jones: Rosie's Lullabye


End file.
